


I will kiss you until the summer ends

by ShakespearianBlondie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Relationships, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Idiots in Love, It's summer in France, Jon and the Starks Are Not Related, Jon is good with his mouth, Mutual Pining, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Robb Stark is a drama queen, Romance, Sansa POV, Sansa is good with her tongue, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, jon pov, nobody's dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-02-08 11:54:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18622810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShakespearianBlondie/pseuds/ShakespearianBlondie
Summary: It's summer. It's in France. Sansa and Jon haven't seen each other in months and Margaery wants her best friend to get laid. Possibly with the dark tall handsome that's been haunting her fantaisies since puberty. Good thing Jon also wants to verify for himself if ten months in Paris has made Sansa an exceptionnal french kisser.Or : yet another Modern Setting fanfic where Jon is the brooding best friend, Robb is the dramatic older brother, Sansa est très chaude, Arya wants a fight, Theon wants a fuck, Bran knows everything, Rickon shouldn't be here, Gendry is soft, Margaery is a matchmaker and Loras & Renly must be protected at all costs.





	1. A Summer's Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my first ever Jonsa writing ! After three years of hardcore shipping, I decided to take a leap of faith and write meself a good old Modern Setting fanfiction full of all the tropes and cliches I adore. It was supposed to be an one-shot but I had way too fun writing those French adventures to make it short. Hope you'll enjoy it !  
> (I'm actually French so pardonnez-moi my mistakes)

Jon Snow couldn’t remember a moment in his life when he hadn’t thought that Sansa Stark was pretty. Even when he was seven and she was four and she would make him and Robb play knights for her. Even when he was sixteen and she was thirteen and he would barely talk to her because for some reasons she would always avoid him (« I reckon she has a crush on you dude » had joked Theon at that time). _Especially_ when he was twenty-five and she was twenty-two and she had showed up at Robb’s birthday party with that backless emerald dress that was made from velvet and tailored like it was meant to fit her body only.

 _Gods_ , she had been breath-taking that night. The many shots she had shared with Margaery and Arya had brought the loveliest shade of pink to her cheeks, the heat from the crowded pub had made her auburn hair wavy and Jon had been unable to stop himself from noting that Sansa looked exactly like what he always fantasised she would look like after sex. With him. For multiple hours. And with multiple orgasms.

But to see Sansa Stark in a swimsuit, her usually fair skin a few shades darker and her entire body ( _Seven Hells_ , she really has the most perfect figure he’s ever seen) covered with freckles, especially when he has not seen her in ten months, that’s enough to make Jon’s heart stop. What a shame. He had survived almost an entire year without her to end up dying at the very moment they reunite because she is _too fucking radiant_ to be true. How romantic. Sansa would probably like that idea. Except she did not have the slightest clue that her brother’s best friend was, in fact, more or less in love with her. Rather “ _more_ ” than “ _less_ ”.

“Jon!”

Sansa beamed as soon as she saw him and in one second (okay, maybe more than that but Jon was too busy mentally drooling over her body to have any notion of time at tall) she was standing from her lounge chair and getting around the pool to throw herself into his arms.

“Hey there Sans”

He smiled back, trying to forget the fact that he’s holding her into his arms and that she smelled exactly like she used too (winter rose with a hint of spice) and that he had his hands on her bare skin and-

“It’s been a while” He said while breaking their embrace, fearing that Sansa might feel that _no_ it’s not a remote in his pocket and _yes_ he is very happy to see her.

“Well, it would have been less than a while if you had come to see us at Christmas like you usually do.”

Sansa was joking of course, her lips curling up in the most charming smirk but her ocean eyes were rather serious. Since Jon’s mother passed away shortly after his high school graduation, he had spent every holiday (and most of his weekends too) at the Stark house. However, this year had been different. His father, Rhaegar Targaryen, had expressed his wish to rekindle his relationship with his son (more like kindle since they never really had a relationship to start with, given the fact that Jon’s birth was the result of an adultery that Rhaegar never really took upon himself) and Jon had agreed to spend his Winter Holidays at the Targaryen Mansion in _fucking_ Devonshire. And when he had finally joined Robb in London to celebrate New Year’s Eve, Sansa had already left for Paris, where she was spending her last year of university with her best friend Margaery Tyrell.

“Well, maybe if you had waited for me instead of hurrying back to France to give your midnight kiss to the first pretty boy with a beret…”

Sansa’s laughter rang at Jon’s ears and _Gods_ , he had missed that sound.

“Don’t be mean because you missed me Jonathan.” She softly caressed his jawline with the back of her hand before whispering in his ear “ _I missed you too_.”

“Oi, Snow!” Robb’s voice suddenly wakes Jon up “Quit flirting with my sister and come help with the luggage!”

“As you wish, my King!”

Sansa laughed again and Jon couldn't help but quickly kiss her forehead before heading back into the house to help his friend.

 

It had been Margaery’s idea: a summer reunion in the South of France, where her family owned the most charming house, right in the middle of the Provence countryside. It was an ancient farm, surrounded by lavender fields and the perfect place to gather her closest friend after spending one year abroad. That meant Sansa as well as her siblings: Robb, the dashing-and-dramatic older brother, Arya, who was small-yet-strong, Bran whose body was eighteen and whose mind was eighty and finally Rickon, who had just turned fifteen but who refused to be left apart (Ned and Catelyn Stark were more than happy to be totally children-free for more than two days since Robb was born). Jon had been invited, obviously, since he was like family to them (except for Sansa. He really hoped she did not saw him in the same light as her brothers and sister) ; as well as Theon Greyjoy who would not had missed the opportunity to hit on French girls for anything in the world. Margaery’s brother, Loras, had come with his boyfriend Renly and Arya had also invited hers: Gendry.

Everybody had been more than thrilled with his idea, as always when Margaery would organize anything. That girl really had a gift for those kind of things and Jon had even heard her express more than once her wish to transform this passion into a full-time job. That made sense, in his opinion. It was the only thing he could imagine the Tyrell girl doing for the rest of her life. That and giving unsolicited explicit sex advices.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, are we going to do something about Jon- _please-shag-me-against-the-wall_ -Snow or not?”

It had only been two days since the Stark siblings arrived with Theon and Jon and Sansa couldn't believe what she just heard. She also couldn't believe Margaery was saying this while they sunbathed on the side of the pool when the very same Jon was currently playing in said pool with Bran and Rickon.

“ _We_?” was the only thing Sansa managed to answer.

“We.” Margaery made her designer sunglasses slide on the bridge of her nose to lock eyes with Sansa. “It is my duty, as your best friend and designated relationship adviser, to make sure that you get laid with the brooding man in with impeccable abs before the end of the summer.”

“Will you please shut up?” Sansa hissed “He’s literally _here_.”

“So what? If you keep being a coward about it, I’m gonna take this matter in my own hands and tell him how he has been part of every wet dream you ever had since you were twelve.”

“Margaery!”

“Sansa?”

The brunette had a mischievous smile on her face, the same one she always wore when she had an idea. Or worse, _a fucking battle strategy_. Sometimes Sansa wondered why her best friend never decided to pursue a political career. She could easily take over the world with her wit.

“You will not talk to Jon about my… _oneiric image of him_.” Sansa was pretty sure she was as red as her hair by now

“Then do it yourself! I’m sure he will be delighted to hear it’s his name you moan when you take care of yourself. That is to say, if this news doesn’t make him have a heart attack since all the blood in body will immediately rush into his…”

“And what are you two lovely ladies talking about?”

Probably for the first time in her life, Sansa was enchanted to hear the sound of Theon’s lousy seduction techniques. Although his little flirtatious game with her was harmless (mainly harmless, because you can never really know what’s going on inside Theon Greyjoy’s mind, especially when females are involved), he liked to pretend that he actually wanted to get into her pants. Which he didn't. At least Sansa really hoped he didn't because there was no way she was going to have sex with someone she considered like a brother. Or some kind of cousin. Anyway, no sex with Theon. _Ever._

“How Sansa has gotten _exceptionnellement_ good at French kissing after those months in Paris.”

Margaery’s reply was so quick that Sansa didn't have the time to register what she’s said before she could hear her older brother shouting:

“What the fuck Marg?!”

But more interesting than the look of horror on Robb’s face was the fact that Jon Snow had suddenly stopped entertaining her little brothers. He was looking straight at her and Sansa could swear that his jaw was – _fucking –_ clenched.

“What’s going on Robert?” devilishly asked Margaery “You know she’s not twelve anymore. And it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife in possession of a good tongue ability.”

“Seven Hells!” Robb looked like he was about to have a seizure “That is _exactl_ y the sort of things I do not want to hear about my little sister.”

“That is exactly the sort of things I _do_ want to know about your little sister.”

“Shut up Greyjoy!”

The fact that Margaery, Sansa _and_ Robb said it at the exact same time with the exact same tone is enough for the tension to vanish immediately. Sansa even can’t help but chuckle.

“Anyway” Robb stiffend “Enough talking about Sansa’s… _tongue_ ”

And Sansa cheekily clicked her tongue and winked at Jon. And though he tried to hide it – by plunging his head straight into the water – she noticed the blush on his cheeks. He had been there for two days and Sansa already made him blush. _Man, this is going to be the greatest summer ever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considere this a mere introduction to this little world of mine. Incoming chapter will be a bit longer but I just wanted to "set the mood". See you soon to find out how exactly Sansa and Jon are going to end up banging ! (because they will. you know they will.)


	2. Drunk in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!  
> Thank you all for the amazing response to the first chapter/prologue of this story. I am beyond thrilled that you guys seem to enjoy it! A special thanks to those who left kudos or comments. It means a lot to me.  
> I hope you'll enjoy this new chapter! see you soon xx

 

The first week of their month-long holiday went by quickly – too quickly in Jon’s opinion. And although he was enchanted to say the least to spend some time with Sansa, he was not the only one. Her siblings and friends also wanted to spend time with her, asking about her year abroad, if Paris was as beautiful as it seemed, if university had been interesting, if she had sex with many French boys…

“That is _not_ an information I wish to share with you, Loras!” Sansa exclaimed, her cheeks starting to match the colour of her hair

“Come on, SanssyPants!” Margaery’s older brother whined “I already know everything there is to know about your sex life since that night at my place where you had too much tequila which resulted in you talking _for yours_ about every penis that you ever saw or touched. Now I just want to know if your French experience has made you wiser in more than just one field!”

Jon was suddenly really happy that Robb has decided to go to sleep early tonight while the rest of them were chatting – and drinking – on the patio. He quietly siped on his sangria, all ears, almost ready to take notes if needed.

“Rickon, you would not happen to be tired by chance?” Arya’s voice left no room for discussion. It was hardly a question, more like a command.

“And what about Bran?” The youngest Stark exclaimed “I can’t hear Sansa’s sex stories but he _can_?”

“Nobody’s hearing my sex stories tonight.” Sansa rolled her eyes and Jon couldn’t help but feeling almost disappointed.

“Both of you are going to bed. _Now_ ;” This time it was Theon’s turn to give orders before adding with a smirk “I want to know if there is some magic French technique that I lack to become Britain’s greatest lover”

“You’re already Britain’s greatest buffoon, leave some titles for the rest of us” Gendry sighed and Arya laughed

“Gods, I knew I was right to hit on you that at the pub.”

They kissed, Rickon pretended to throw up at the sight of it and Bran simply stood up, with almost no expression on his face. He seemed slightly amused but that was Bran, it was like puberty had stripped him from the majority of human emotions.

“C’mon Rickon. Let’s leave the _adults_ alone.”

Rickon grumbled an unheard answer and they both went back into the house. A minute of silence follow edtheir departure and – surprisingly enough – it was Arya who broke it. More surprisingly was how she broke it.

“Now, you tell us everything about _le sexe_.”

“Arya!” Sansa almost spited out her wine in shock

“What?” The brunette shrugged “I’m curious. And I also know everything about your sex life. And your fantasies.”

She said it with a wink and Jon could swear – _Gods, he could really almost swear it_ – that she was raising her beer in his direction. But it couldn't be true. It must have been be the alcohol he had been bolting for the last hour. They’ve all been. In fact, they were probably plastered. And Margaery’s high pitched laugh did nothing to contradict this theory.

“Dearest Arya, I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I had to endure Sansa’s drunk speeches about how perfect is a certain-“

“Margaery you will shut the fuck up immediately or else I’m going to tell _you-know-who_ about _the-thing-that-you-told-me-that-night-on-the-quays-of-the-Seine_.”

Sansa’s voice was so low that Jon could feel his boxer getting tighter to the sound of it. Her eyes darkened and her cheeks were the same colour that the liquid in her wine glass. She looked so furious that even Arya lowered her eyes, taking a long sip of beer. Margaery was frozen, proof that the redhead’s threat was deadly serious. Whatever information Margaery was about to divulge, it must have been be critical.

“Okay Stark” The brunette finally said, breaking the tension “Let’s go back to French guys and kisses. We’ll talk about the rest later. But don’t think I’m not going to meddle.”

She added a wink and Sansa let out a theatrical sigh.

“I know you will. Nobody has the power to stop you from doing so.”

“Not even our Grandma” added Loras, making everybody laugh. “And that says a lot about you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa could not believe that her very best friend was on the verge of spilling her most treasured secret. She knew her feelings for Jon were everything but simple. Yes, he was Robb’s best friend but he also grew to be one of hers. And while Sansa couldn’t deny that she often fantasized about his naked body on top – _and inside_ – of hers, she also wished for something more. She didn’t simply want to fuck Jon. She wanted to fuck him so much that he’ll be unable to walk the following morning but that he’ll want to spend the rest of his life with her. Pretty much.

“So, how do French compare to Brits?” Renly was the one to ask again “I’m quite curious about it, to be honest and I never had the chance to experiment it for myself.”

“What? But we have sex all the time and I’m almost French!” Loras exclaimed

“Having a grandmother that once had sex with a French soldier does not make us French, Loras.” Margaery joked, pouring herself another glass of wine. “Getting back to your question Renly, I haven’t notice a huge difference. I think the whole dating and seeing someone process is a bit different but otherwise it’s pretty much the same.”

“Men will be men.” Theon sighed, half smiling “What about you Sans’? Do you plan on converting to the Frog’s way of love?”

Sansa had to admit that she was not very comfortable discussing her sex life in front of Jon. She didn’t really care talking about it with Theon. Although he could be awkward and a bit of a drag sometimes, he meant no harm. Margaery was Margaery, she knew everything and had her say on anything. Arya could give surprisingly good advice and Gendry was so polite that he'd probably pretend that he became suddenly deaf for the time of the conversation. As for Renly and Loras, they were the greatest listeners that Sansa had ever met and it was no lie that gay men understood straight relationships better than anyone. But Jon… They never talked about this kind of things. Not that Sansa didn't want to. But she’d rather talk about the things they should do with each other – _like him kissing her everywhere and her riding him through the night_ – than the things she did with other men. They had no reasons to talk about their sex life, she was Robb’s little sister for Gods’ sake! But then, Sansa remembered what Margaery had told her the first time she had mentioned liking Jon a bit too much.

_“He needs to see you as a woman, not as his best friend’s younger sister. He has to understand that you have desires so that he can wish to fulfil them.”_

So Sansa finished her glass in one go, wiped her mouth and decided that she will regret this later.

“They are better kissers. Mine were anyway.” She noticed the way Jon’s mouth slightly twitches when she says ‘mine’ and she had to keep herself from smiling with pride “However, regarding the sex… I don’t think my previous experiences make me a very qualified judge. Sure, my few… _relations_ … were more satisfying that those I shared with my previous boyfriends but we all know I didn’t date Britain’s most eligible bachelors.”

“That’s an understatement.” Arya snorted “I still can’t understand how you fell for those jerks. Even Theon would had been a better match than Joffrey fuckin’ Baratheon and don’t get me started on Harry Hardyng.”

“Harry was a total fucktwit.” Theon agreed “A man stupid enough to cheat on Sansa Starks deserves to have his dick removed from the rest of his body.”

“The worst of them was Ramsay Bolton. He’s lucky to be still alive after the way he treated you.”

Sansa turned her head towards the direction of the voice who just spoke, incredulous. It was Jon and he looked deadly serious about it. Sansa knew that Jon learned the way Ramsay, the last boy she dated, had become more and more violent with her. She knew it because it was Jon who had opened the door the night she ran to his and Robb’s apartment. She knew it because when Robb had decided to pay Bolton a little visit, Jon had insisted to come with him. But they never mentioned this episode afterwards. This relationship had probably been the worst for Sansa and it had only lasted for a couple of months. Sansa was aware that Ramsay had been a decisive factor in her decision of moving to France for a year. She’d rather leave her friends and family than facing her ex-boyfriend in the streets of London. The pain had been way too harsh.

 

* * *

 

 

He could have killed him that night. Maybe he should have killed him. Jon knew that this event would forever be engraved in his memory: Sansa’s face, pale and hollow, her tears, the way she had fell into his arms, how she couldn’t talk for the first minutes because it was too much efforts to tell him about Ramsay… And then the rage, the urge to hit something, the monster that was screaming inside of him. Robb was equally furious to learn that some bastard had rose his hand on his baby sister. But Robb had been the calm one, the rational one. It was Robb who stopped Jon from really hurting Bolton, arguing that ending in prison was not the way to avenge Sansa and prevent her from getting hurt again. Still, he could have killed him with his bare hands for what he had done to her.

“Can we stop talking about Sansa’s disappointing exes and focus on her enchanting experiences in Paris?”

In a way, Jon was grateful that Loras prevented the conversation to shift on Ramsay Bolton. He had drank too much to have self-control about this.

“There is not much to say… I met guys, I kissed some of them, we had sex, it was nice.”

_Do not imagine Sansa having sex with other guys, do not imagine Sansa having sex with –_

“Do French eat pussy more than British?”

Jon was drinking another glass of whisky when he heard Arya’s question and the surprise made him choke so hard that he thought he was going to die. Arya was the closest thing he had to a little sister – though she was incredibly noisy and annoying – and hearing her talking about… _going down_ … That was… That was too much. Good thing indeed that Robb, Rickon and Bran were sleeping.

“Meh, not really.” Sansa winced, taking a sip of beer “Men don’t really like to get down anyway. They like to get but not to give.”

Jon kind of wanted to say that he would personally love to give Sansa _anything_ that she requested. He never understood why some of his male friends found it degusting to kneel in front of a woman to give her pleasure. To be fair, he liked it. He liked to know that he was responsible for her moans, for the way she would arch her back and grip the sheets. He remembered the way Ygritte would say his name when he was kissing her _there_. And he hoped he would have the occasion to discover how Sansa’s mouth would pronounce it…

_Stop thinking about that now, you’re getting hard already._

Fortunately, when Jon paid attention to the conversation again, the subject had shifted to sexism and its influence on intercourses. Little by little, everybody around the table went to sleep. Theon was the first to leave, soon followed by Renly and Loras. When Gendry decided he was too tired to stay, Arya waited exactly ten minutes after his departure to join him.

“I just don’t want him to get any ideas.”

She simply said when Margaery had asked her why she did not followed him immediately. And once Margaery had realized she was left with Jon and Sansa, she also decided to go to bed. Jon suspected she was not really tired given the way she was talking about “leaving you two alone” and “you probably need some time together”, but he had drank too much tonight for his brain to function efficiently. And he wondered if he’s not hallucinating when he saw Sansa taking a pack of cigarettes from her pocket.

“I thought you hated smoking. You gave me a twenty minutes speech once about lung cancer.”

“I remember” she chuckled “I was fourteen and I couldn’t sleep. I found you smoking on the porch.” She took the lighter that Theon had left behind him and lighted up her cigarette “I guess I changed.”

Jon wanted to say something, about changing and evolving but he didn't know what. So he simply said:

“I missed you.”

Sansa looked at him and she smiled. It was a soft yet radiant smile. It made Jon’s heart skip a beat because he felt  like this smile was a gift to him.

“I missed you too.”

His own voice was almost a whisper. Sansa’s free hand crossed the table to reach for his own. She smiled again, her face surrounded by the curls of the smoke. She looked like a painting, Jon thought It would be no surprise that there was someone waiting for her in Paris, profoundly in love with her. The thought of it was enough to make Jon’s heart ache.

“What are you going to do once the summer is over?”

Jon’s question left his mouth before he could hold it back. He neede to know. He heard Robb talking about her staying in Paris and if that’s true… He didn't know what he’ll do. Probably nothing, as usual. Jon was really talented to do nothing for things that really matters.

“Come home, I guess.”

“You mean…”

“In London.”

 It’s like she knew what he was thinking and she’s reassuring him. Jon gulped.

“You’re not… I thought you wanted to stay in France…”

“I don’t know what I want Jon.”

Sansa seemed to be answering to far more questions that Jon had not even dared to think about asking. She shook her head, lighting another cigarette. She seemed contemplative now, as her eyes followed the travel of the smoke in the air.

“I like living in Paris. And I have been offered an internship in a museum there.”

Sansa had always liked pretty things. She would surround herself with beauty in every shape and form. She took ballet lessons when she was younger, loved classical music and opera and could spend hours looking at a painting. When she decided to study the History of Arts at Birkbeck College, it was no surprise that she excelled. Jon knew her deepest wish was to work in a museum, to supervise the organisation of new collections or to organise guided visits for children. It was what she had wanted to do for years.

“Wow, Sans’ that’s… great.”

No it wasn’t.

“Is it, though?” Her smile was now almost sad “I mean, yes it’s a great opportunity. And Paris is a beautiful city but it’s just not…”

She hesitated and her gaze was so piercing that Jon felt nervousness running through his body, almost making it shiver.

“… _home_.”

 

* * *

 

 

 _You_ , she wanted to say. _It’s just not you._ But she was too scared. Sansa knew that Jon is a good man, that he will never deliberately hurt her. But her previous relationships were such disasters that she knew she had to be prudent this time. She couldn't let herself fall for him because once she'd take this leap, there were no turning back.

“I can understand that. I mean, who would want to live in one of the most beautiful city in the world when you can spend half your wage in public transport?”

Sansa laughed. Gods, she forgot how funny Jon could be sometimes.

“Right. Plus Paris is too sunny. And their bread is actually good.”

“Ugh, you don’t want to live in a country that knows how to make bread Sansa. That’s terrifying.”

Jon was laughing too, his eyes squinting from it. He looked happy and relaxed and Sansa was so glad she was sharing this moment with him.

“Plus I want to give British boys another chance. I’m sure I could manage to find one that’s not a total moron.”

She sayid it lightly but carefully. It’s like a test. Sansa wanted to see Jon’s reaction to her alluding to the possibility of dating.

“I’m sure you will.” It was his only response. But then he added “So no French lover stole your heart?”

Sansa simply shook her head again.

“No Jon, nobody stole my heart in France.”

 _Because I left it in England with you_.


	3. The Wind Rises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Sorry about the delay but in case you haven't noticed, I started writing another Jonsa fanfic (much shorter than this one ought to be. Plus I have re-read the first two chapters and realised I was not pleased with my writing so I decided to change a bunch of things. The amount of typos was embarrassing... (don't worry, I left one that accidentally happened to be my greatest mistake) Anyway! I hope you’ll like what follows. Just a reminder: it’s a slow burn story. I don’t want to rush things between the two so be patient and bear with me!

 

The following morning, Sansa woke up with a hell of a headache and the fear that she had said too much. She couldn’t quite remember what they had talked about with Jon before the both of them realised they were barely keeping their eyelids open. Sansa was known to be chatty when she was drunk and for a moment she feared that her resolution to keep her feelings for Jon for herself was already forgotten. But when she ran into him shirtless – _Seven Hells, does he have to be so good looking?_ – in the kitchen and that he simply greeted her with a smile and a cup of fresh brewed coffee, Sansa knew she was safe. For now. Because Margaery Tyrell, once more, had decided that the universe was in need of her sticking her nose into her best friend’s business.

It was Sunday, which in France meant farmer’s market. The fridge was now almost empty and Margaery had thought it would be “ _oh! So picturesque_ ” to get to the nearest village by feet in order to gather some supplies. Of course Sansa had to go with her – the brunette had insisted so much that her presence was absolutely necessary that Sansa had suspected that she would not only be picking vegetables that day. She was proven right the minute she agreed to accompany Margaery.

“However, we’re going to need some help if we want to carry the food that Robb is going to devour in two days.” Robb had snorted and before anyone could say anything, Margaery had devilishly added “Jon, will you be a dear and join us? We’re in need of a firefighter with the body of a Greek god.”

Sansa had wanted to disappear into the ground. Theon had shouted something about having the body of a Greek god too – although it was Dionysus, god of wine, excesses and bad decisions – and Arya had pointed that Margaery could always take the car if she didn’t want to carry groceries for a thirty-minute walk. 

“Of course I could but what would be the fun in that?”

That sentence was the epitome of Margaery Tyrell.

 

* * *

 

 

The stroll to the market had been nice enough: it was still early and the soft embrace of the sun made Sansa happier that she had been in months. Might well she loved winter, she had been born for the warmer days. Plus, she had forgotten how at ease she felt when she was with Margaery and Jon. The Tyrell girl would somehow bring a chattier side to her favourite brooding boy and Jon was now explaining to her why Lord of the Rings was an absolute cinematographic masterpiece.

“I swear Margaery, you will never know what true relief is until you experience the emotional rollercoaster that the Battle of Helm’s Deep is.”

“The only good thing about those movies is Orlando Bloom is a wig.”

“Trust me Marg, you haven’t seen Viggo Mortensen.” Sansa chuckled “Aragorn is the real deal.”

“Sansa Stark longing for the dark tall handsome that seriously needs a haircut? What a surprise!”

Sansa’s cheeks turns the colour of her hair and she silently prays that Jon will make no connection between him and what has been her first fictional crush. It’s a wonder it took Sansa years to realise that her brother’s oldest friend looked oddly like the man who started her sexual awakening. However, Jon does not seem to notice. He was standing still, a few feet behind the girls, on the side of the road, facing the infinite violet sea that stretched before his eyes. The lavender fields were no common scenery: the South wind would brush the delicate stems and his gentle touch resulted in waves that were purely breath-taking. It seemed like the flowers were alive and their graceful dance was a show that no human being could forget. Sansa loved the French countryside: of course Paris was stunning but whenever she could, she would drag Margaery in the first train that would make them discover the rest of the country. Her love for these landscapes – who changed so much from one region to another – was also born in the paintings that she used to drown herself into. She had spent hours in museum, gazing at the work of genius such as Van Gogh or Monet. Her favourite current had always been the impressionism. The fact that a painting could look so different depending on the distance between it and those who were watching it was an amazement for her.

“It’s quite the view, isn’t it?” Her voice was soft when she recognised in Jon’s eyes the same look she sported when she first discovered this sea of wonders.

“I feel like I’m dreaming.”

Jon was not the best with words, Sansa knew it. But there was something in his voice, in the way his lips softly opened to speak – she couldn’t help but wondering how those lips would feel on her mouth – that touched her. He seemed deeply moved by the scenery and Sansa promised herself that one day she would take him to the Musée d’Orsay. He would probably love to spend hours sitting in a bench, just losing himself into the depths of a painting, like she did.

Sansa opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by the notes of a tune that was way too familiar…

_Did Margaery just played the music from that scene in Pride and Prejudice 2005 where Darcy is walking across the countryside at dawn?_

“I hate to interrupt what seems to be a moment stolen from eternity but do I need to remind you that we’re supposed to bring back food?”

Sansa blushed, muttered something about the importance of finding beauty everywhere and resumed walking. It was when she moved away from Jon that she realised that although their hands were not touching, he had left his mark on her. She could still feel him, like his presence had burned her. But never burn had been sweeter than this one.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a fact that Jon Snow knew nothing. Well. According to his ex-girlfriend Ygritte, he did know _one_ thing but that was another topic. But Jon was aware that the term “discerning” was not one to be used in his association with him. However, when Margaery Tyrell had specifically asked him to accompany her and Sansa to the market, because apparently they “needed a strong man”, something had seemed odd. He did not dare to imagine the reason behind Margaery’s scheming although he hoped this reason to be the gorgeous redhead that was currently talking to a man about tomatoes.

He had never heard Sansa speaking in French and when she started making a conversation with the stallkeeper, Jon had decided that she would be the end of him. Her voice was a tone higher than usual and the fact that she was always looking for the right word made her unbelievably adorable. She was laughing now, like the guy – who was old enough to be her grandfather, at least – had said something marvellously funny.

_What’s so funny about tomatoes anyway?_

Jon stood there and for a second he almost wished he had stayed at the house with the others. Sure, Theon was a pain in the ass but he was nothing compare to the torture of seeing Sansa gleaming at the sight of – yet another – tomato.

“Tell me Jonathan, do you plan on sulking every time our dear Sansa has an interaction with a man who is not related to her or _are you finally going to do something?”_

Margaery was now standing behind him and she probably had received a special training from Arya to slide behind people without being her because Jon almost jumped when he heard her voice.

“What?” was his only response

“Don’t think me stupid” The brunette narrowed her eyes, like she wanted to read his mind. “You better man up before I force you to do so.”

Jon honestly had no idea what her last sentence meant but her words sounded so threatening that he just agreed with a nod of the head.

“What are you two talking about?” Sansa had apparently finished her _enthralling_ discussion about tomatoes as she was walking towards them.

“I was just saying to Jon that I need to get back to the house.” Margaery, once again, answered in a blink of the eye. “I forgot to charge my epilator up and I really have do my legs this afternoon.”

“Well I guess we should go then-”Sansa got interrupted by her best friend

“No need. I’ll take what we bought for now. You should continue to walk through the market. I think I saw someone selling lemon pies.”

Margaery just winked at Sansa, shot a strange look at Jon and spun. She made her way across the mass easily but Jon could swear he’d heard her laughing before she completely disappeared from his sight. There was a minute of silence before he slowly turned towards Sansa.

“So… ‘Want a pie?”

 

* * *

 

“ _Gods_ , that was… amazing.” Sansa sighed, slowly licking her fingers one by one.

“I have to agree.” Jon chuckled. “This is hands down one of the best lemon pie I have ever eaten.”

They were now sitting at a small sidewalk café, enjoying the rays of sunshine that were joyfully playing with their hair. Sansa had never noticed how Jon’s dark curls were made of a richer material than what she initially thought. Indeed, it was so full of reflections, catching the light in some places or burying itself in shadows in others. There was something captivating about the way his locks would place themselves around his jaw, how his half-bun gave Sansa the opportunity to feast her eyes on the sharp features of his face: his eyes, a dark shade of grey and yet so warm and enticing, his defined nose and the – _oh! So alluring_ – roundness of his mouth. Those pouty lips that had haunted Sansa since the first time her imagination had ventured in the depths of her fantasises, imagining how it would feel to have this lips against hers.

“Sansa?”

She had been so focused on Jon’s mouth that she hadn’t seen it move, indicating that he was going to speak. Sansa found herself a dizzy and tried to regain her composure, hoping her attitude wouldn’t appear as suspect.

“Yeah?”

Jon was now furrowing his brow, like he was hesitating as to speak or not.

“You have…” He gulped, his index making his way towards her face. “You have lemon on…”

Sansa froze as Jon’s hand came closer to her and before she could say anything, she felt the light brush of his skin against the corner of her mouth.

_Oh._

“There it is.” Jon’s chuckle had a hint of embarrassment but seeing him so flustered gave Sansa a rush of confidence and without even thinking about it, she wrapped her lips around his finger to savour the very last bite of her lemon pie. Nevertheless, Jon’s reaction to her action might have been even more delicious.

His eyes suddenly widened, and his jaw actually dropped at the sight of it. Sansa had left him speechless and he didn’t even tried to say something. He just looked at her and then at his index and then at her again. Fearing that this situation could lead to an awkward silence, Sansa decided to laugh and she used her napkin to wipe Jon’s finger.

“Sorry.” She said with a huge smile that wasn’t sorry at all “I couldn’t help it. You know how much I love lemon.”

 _But boy, you taste even better_.

 

* * *

 

 

They were now heading back home at it was almost noon and they both knew that the delicious food they carried in their bag was expected by the army of infinite stomachs that waited for them at the house. They were taking their time and although the conversation was pleasant, Jon couldn’t stop thinking at what had happened less than a hour ago. Sansa had sucked his finger. Literally. Her mouth and his index had been in contact for a dozen of seconds and it had been enough to make him half-hard. Sansa had probably no idea how the effect she had on him – and on his body.

_Or perhaps she knows exactly what she’s doing._

He wished. _Gods_ , Jon knew that was wicked – she was Robb’s sister for Sevens’ sake – but he hoped so dearly that the gorgeous redhead that was presently walking at his side shared his wants and desires. But life had shown him more than once that the gap between what he longed for and the coldness of reality was nothing but impassable. His very birth had been the worst circumstances ever.

“So, how was Christmas at your… at Rhaegar’s?”

It was like Sansa had been reading his mind. Jon let out a small sigh, silently thanking her for using his genitor’s name instead of assuming that impregnating his mother before refusing to recognize his own blood made him a father.

“It was okay.” He shrugged. “Rhaenys and Aegon were doing the best they could to make me feel at ease but I understand that it has to be so awkward for them. I mean suddenly learning that you have a hidden half-brother is no easy thing to experience. But they’ve been nice. Not as great as you Starks but nice enough.”

“Nobody is ever going to be as great as us, Snow.” Sansa gently pushed him with her shoulder with a wink.

“I don’t know, Ella’s cuisine might outshine your Mom’s…” It was provocation but it was almost true. Ella, Rhaegar’s wife, was a marvellous cook and she even had insisted that Jon should leave with enough leftovers for an entire week.

“How dare you?” Sansa gasped, as if his words meant a great offence to her. “I am so telling her that and you will never have her special Jonsnowmisu for your birthday again.”

“What? But it’s my favourite desert!” Jon pleaded, deeply shocked at the horrendous threat.

Catelyn Stark had once decided to create a special desert for each member of her family, a desert that were to be eaten only at birthdays (or very special occasions). Robbeygoeey cake was a mountain of sugar, butter and chocolate, Aryacotta was sweet and sharp, just like the girl and Sansa was such a princess that Catelyn had decided to create something new every year, always using lemons of course. When Jon had turned ten, Catelyn had created for him the Jonsnowmisu: it was a classic tiramisu but instead of classic ladyfingers, she replaced them with homemade chocolate ladyfingers. She also used an insane amount of dark coffee and dusted it off with chocolate’s shaving. Jon had cried when he had realised that this meant he was a part of this family.

“You don’t deserve it!” Sansa falsely snapped at him, her infinite legs taking longer steps as if she was trying to distance herself from Jon “You’re a traitor!”

“Oh come on Sans! You know I was joking, right?” He was now almost running to keep up with her pace.

_Gods how is she that fast?_

Sansa abruptly stopped, turning around to face him.

“We’re better than them, aren’t we?”

There was no need to clarify who was “we” and who was “them”.

“Obviously.”

“Then say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say that you prefer us.”

_Sansa Stark, is that jealousy?_

“Of course I prefer you.” Jon dropped the bags he had been carrying as his voice became softer. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around Sansa to pull her closer to him. “There is no competition. You are my family.”

Saying that, Jon realised how much he differentiated Sansa from the rest of the Starks. Robb was like his brother, Ned was the father figure he never had and Catelyn the figure of authority he needed when his mother died, Arya was as much a pain in the ass as he would expected a little sister to be, as for Bran and Rickon, he looked upon them like they were the younger cousins that he needed to educate. But Sansa… She was not his sister, she was not his cousin, she was Sansa. Sweet Sansa, sharp Sansa, smart Sansa. She meant so much to Jon but he couldn’t properly express the nature of the bond that tied him to her.

“I have to warn you, Jon Snow.” Her voice rose from her chest, deep and husky like a wolf’s howl. “I am not sharing you with anyone.”

For a second, Jon thought about saying something or doing something. Maybe he could respond that there would be no need of sharing, that he was very opened to the idea of exclusivity. Maybe he should kiss her, whisper against her mouth that he was to be hers if she agreed to be his. But he said nothing, did nothing and Sansa simply giggled before freeing herself from his embrace.

“We should get going. I’m afraid that if we keep on crawling, Theon is going to eat someone.”

Jon’s mouth twirled into a half-smile, knowing how limitless what the Greyjoy boy’ hunger.

“Well, we wouldn’t want to be responsible for an act of cannibalism, would we?”

And with that, they resumed their walk. Shortly after, the Tyrell villa was in sight and Jon found himself regretting to be unable to spend more time with Sansa only. He had missed her more than he had realised and to be with her was like breathing again. He felt younger and more carefree than he had in months because there was something so easy about being with Sansa. It simply flowed.

At the second they entered the house, they were greeted by Margaery’s enquiring gaze, as she had been waiting for them to act a certain way. She narrowed her piercing green eyes and Jon could read something that looked awfully like disappointment in them. And before he could ask what was going on, the brunette had taken Sansa by the elbow to drag them in the first floor of the house, evidently looking for privacy. Jon wondered what matter would be so urgent and secret that Margaery had felt the need to talk to Sansa without being able to wait for a minute. But then came back to his memory what she had said to him at the market.

_“You better man up before I force you to do so”_

That had been strange. Even for Margaery Tyrell who loved to speak in riddles and mysteries. But Jon was determined to found out what was going on and he was also decided to do something about the whole Sansa situation. Especially when he had just found out that she was the jealous type.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa? Jealous? Sansa Stark jealousing over Jon Snow? Geez I wonder where that comes from.


End file.
